Marcia Alice

I do not have a head for "dates" and "events."  There are few days of my life that, without referencing a diary or calendar or my brother whose capacity to remember dates is amazing, that I could tell you exactly what I was up to that don't involve a major holiday. While reading all of the beautiful and heartfelt posts about mothers on OGFBF (a Facebook group that is a collective of creative souls that I am blessed to be a part of),  I realized that today is April 7th - the day we moved my mom into an independent living facility in 1997. 

Marcia Alice Kirtley Brockmire

My mother lived a colorful life, much of which I didn't learn until after she passed away, as often is the case with children, and all of which makes for some interesting storytelling (more on that another time). My heart often hurts for the cards my mom got dealt in life, but I like to believe that much of her life was filled with happy times and that it was all "worth it" for her. She never, ever complained. In hind-sight I recognize that she was quite protective of myself and my brother, and I know that she loved my brother and me with her whole heart, as we do her.

Mom was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis when I was in high school, (early 1980's) and the doctors believed that she had likely had MS since the early-to-mid 1970's and had just not been diagnosed. She and my father got divorced shortly after I left high school and she lived on her own in an apartment in downtown Memphis for several years, not without incident, until she moved in with her then boyfriend who looked exactly like what your brain conjures up when I say the words "biker dude.". (Don't judge just yet. Harry was a wonderful man).   

In 1997, my mom was was 52 years old - just 6 years older than I am today, when we moved her into the independent towers of a facility to help care for her. I cannot help but wonder what she was thinking after we walked out of the door of her private apartment that first night. Did she cry? Was she sad? Lonely? While I remember the date and the event, I had so much going on, and was heaped so much more responsibility that I was struggling through my own that today I do not remember... did I ask her? I'd like to think I did. I spoke with her daily, often half a dozen times a day. Funny how the mind doesn't remember some things. 

I was in my early 20's, just graduated from college but a few years when my responsibilities for my mom took over my world, and at 29 I felt both like a baby ill-equipped to handle the responsibility, and old before my time, caring for a parent i considered so young. Growing up we expect to care for babies, not parents, in our 20's and 30's. There is no guidebook. No "how-to" manual. And I know I made many mistakes.  All of these posts about moms on OGFBF, they are just so sweet. They make my heart ache for my own mom, and, more often than not, that coincides with an ache for maybe a smidge more of a conventional family life, which, I suppose, means that I wished that things had gone differently for us all. 

Today, however, I am melancholy, and I just wanted to introduce her, and share with you all the last photo taken of her that I share publicly.  My mother was a bit of a model growing up, and I know that she would not be pleased if I allowed the world to see her in decline from MS. I would have to look up the date, but I believe that this photo of my mother was taken when she was pretty close to the age I am today. 46. She looked much better at 46 than I do, and, more important, you can see so well the beautiful soul that she was in this photo.

Miss you mama!